Fighter
by IvernessianWriter
Summary: Drayden, a Dark Brotherhood assassin, is sent to kill in the Imperial City. But his luck changes when his prey turns out to be a trap, and instead he is the victim.
1. A Shadow of a Man

**A Shadow of a Man**

The Imperial City. Roughly three in the morning. One target.

That's all he needed to know. The place. The time. The mission.

Drayden's breath came out in a steamy vapor mist. Winter. The white walled city only added to the overall sensation of winter's dismal arrival. He never did care much for the season, save for one reason. One very profound reason. Well, maybe not so much profound as enjoyable. His prey invariably reacted slowly, thought and attacked with less vigor, and overall put up less of a fight. It made for lighter work. Hell, he actually might start to prefer the season over all the others if he kept thinking like this.

Drayden settled back against the wall. The tight leather covering his skin was, once broken in, actually satisfyingly comfortable and warm. His raiment's buckle straps hung loosely across his shoulders and legs. They used to clink together when he first joined, but after his first unsuccessful mission due to their annoying jingle, yet another reason he hated winter for, he figured it best to simply remove them. With a quick slash of his dagger, they fell to the floor, never again to annoy him. He smiled, thinking back to it. A sign of rebellion, he thought to himself. Ocheeva had given him the strictest of beatings for botching the mission, but restricted him from removing the buckles.

Ocheeva. It wouldn't be too much longer before he could have his way with her. Lucien hinted to him that much. And Vincente? Please, that man could never stand his own in the heat of battle. The only use he could ever serve was right where the brotherhood placed him, dealing with simplistic matters, such as offering petty assignments. And sucking blood, of course. Lucien suspected a betrayal from within the brotherhood. And all clues led directly to the Cheydinhal sanctuary. Granted, it couldn't be Drayden, Lucien acknowledged that. After all, he was the newest recruit, and by far the most gifted. Lucien, on more than one occasion, offered him praise where others did not. They could not see that his skills far surpassed their own. They despised him. They envied him. And if he didn't figure out who the betrayer was, and soon, they would have their way with him.

Drayden spat to the side, down the alley next to his victims housing. According to selective sources, his prey had a not-so-secret addiction. Oh, how he loved to see the dumb look of a drugged victim's face before they met their end. Nothing spelled JOY like that. Drayden's skin tingled just thinking about performing a plethora of abusive tactics on this particular victim, simply because he was under the influence of a mind-altering narcotic, and thus his mind would be harder to break. Some might consider his choice of enjoyment a bit morbid, others excessively. He considered it an art. It takes skill to break a man down to a mere shadow of who he used to be.

For now, Drayden sufficed to displaying a moderate amount of patience. Any moment should issue his target's arrival and then the real fun would begin. This is the time Drayden would consider the silence before the storm.

Thinking back to his first and second mission, Drayden considered his level of patience incredible now. The pathetic excuse for a captain of the Marie Elena in the Waterfront District fell all too easily, though Drayden barely escaped with his life. He was reckless. And then that feeble old wood elf in Bruma would never have stood a chance if his guard hadn't heard those damned buckles, and so compromising his mission. He should never have attempted the mission under the current situation. He should have, perhaps, caused a distraction where the guard would not have been on site. But no, he had to climb up in that rat-infested and gods-forsaken attic and attempt to drop a hefty Minotaur head down on the unsuspecting Baenlin.

But now, and especially with the addition of his newfound magic skills, concealing most matters remained out of the question in difficulty – even a pesky jingle could pose no problem if he willed it. He was the strongest. He was the fastest. And he'd prove how he was the smartest in all the brotherhood.

"They will see," Drayden hissed into the air, infusing as much malice and hatred for those who didn't care to recognize him into those three words.

A door creaked open. Finally, he thought angrily, carefully peering around the corner. His heart skipped a beat. There he was. His assassination target. Not five feet away. Oh, how easy it would be to simply step out and quickly plunge a dagger into the base of his prey's skull. Drayden paused. How satisfying would it be to wait? Yes, wait, a voice spoke in the back of his mind, wait. Yes, he would wait. The pleasurable things he could do if only he waited.

Drayden's crimson eyes followed his target for a moment. A sickly Altmer, not even capable of putting up a decent fight. No, he wouldn't put up any fight whatsoever, not this one. Sometimes, Drayden did wish for more duels in his career, but perhaps he enjoyed the sensation of completing a mission even more.

"Faelian?"

Drayden cursed silently.

A guardsman caught sight of the peculiar elf. No. Not just any guardsman. Him. The Commander of the Imperial Swine.

Drayden cursed under his breath, and sank back into hiding. He peered from within the shadows, hoping that whatever business Adamus Phillida had with Faelian would be quick.

"Faelian, what are you doing out so late?" Was there an actual hint of concern in the old man's voice for this pathetic excuse of a living thing? No, Drayden sensed there was more to Phillida's inquiry than he let on.

Fear immediately gripped at Drayden's stomach. Wait, he thought, could he know? How could he possibly have guessed that Faelian's doom would come now, not by an overdose but by an assassination? Does he know? No. He doesn't. He may have escaped three assassination attempts, but that only makes him clever in evasion. He doesn't know. There is no possible way he could know.

But try as he might to settle on the assumption that Phillida was no more than a foolish s'wit, he could not force himself to believe that this one man in particular remained ignorant. His training may have told him that all Imperials were, but his instincts told him otherwise. But there was something in Phillida's voice. Maybe a slight bit of conviction. Regret, even. Nevertheless, it came down to either Faelian or himself. He could not allow another blemish on his near-perfect record. He could easily avoid any guard. If they did suspect that Faelian's time had come, he would just have to outwit them. An issue he never had a problem with, save early in his profession.

Faelian was obviously suffering from a withdrawal. His movements were jittery, his speech hastened. There was no way Adamus would let Faelian go so easily. "Oh? What? W-wait… yes. I am, uh, going on a walk. YES! And, and I need some fresh juice – AIR! And I need a walk to get this, yes. YES! Air, YES!"

Adamus lightly laid his gauntleted hand on Faelian's shoulder. "Well, be safe. These streets are dangerous at night."

What? thought Drayden. Perhaps Phillida really was clueless. The knot in his stomach immediately died away, along with all fear that his mission had already been compromised.

"Oh, of, of course. YES! Be careful! Hehe! Shh… yes. I'm just g-going for a nice stroll around the p-park." Faelian skipped off. Adamus watched him go, then turned to scan the area before departing.

Drayden let out a low breath.

"This just might be too easy," he chuckled with a crooked grin.

---

Faelian led Drayden to exactly where his sources said the ridiculous elf was hiding his secret stash, a small domicile squished between two larger residences. Rumor had it that Faelian practiced his fetish with an ever-plastered Nord by the name of Lorkmir. However, Lorkmir was last seen entering his house in the late fall. He never came out again. Some sources indicated that Faelian slew Lorkmir, and others that Lorkmir passed on from an overdose. In any case, it would mean less witnesses, but also less murders. Drayden was both pleased to hear this, and disappointed.

The door slid soundless on recently oiled hinges. Drayden found that strange, but passed it off as inconsequential, simply justifying it with Faelian's desire to be secretive. Amazingly, the elf proved he had some sense about him.

Drayden took a few steps forward into the house, stepping lightly so as to avoid causing a raucous; the balls of your feet, just as Lucien instructed him, not the tiptoes or the heels. The lights, vastly dimmed, offered no immediate respite from the dark. A faint but comprehensible humming sounded from the back of the room, though it sounded as though it were coming from a tunnel. Most likely a basement, Drayden figured. Deeming it safe to cast a spell, Drayden let loose the purple glow of a life detection spell combined with night eye, both of which immediately confirmed his prior assumption. Faelian was in the basement, but this first room was far too cluttered to successfully navigate without causing an ample amount of noise. Drayden was all too eager to pass Faelian off as intelligent with the oiled hinges, hoping he would have a challenge, but thinking about it now, Faelian might just be one of the easiest targets he's ever had to break.

Drayden sighed at this and proceeded to tread carefully past the debris, using the walls and fixtures as leverage whenever available to propel him beyond the larger fields of clamorous rubbish. It proved an easy task, given his advanced acrobatics training, the only positive role Ocheeva served in the history of his career. After several minutes of navigating the death warrant on his career, Drayden stood in front of a rotten door, splintered and fragmented from an obvious beating. And the most ungodly stench arose from the bowels beyond that doorway. Drayden's stomach churned mildly, but he'd smelled worse. Much worse.

So Faelian is a murderer himself, Drayden thought. He chuckled darkly at the irony of a murderer being slain in the very place of his misdeed. Either that or he left Lorkmir to rot. In any case, the fool didn't care to rid his drug house of the stench. He's bound to be caught red-handed sooner or later.

Drayden proceeded down the stairs, deeper into the basement where Faelian's damned soul would eternally rest. Drayden felt excited, giddy almost, the way he usually feels before completing a contract. But first, he wanted a little fun.

---

"Faelian," Drayden said, concealed like a wraith in the shadows. "Faelian…"

"What… what?" Faelian said, looking around, a lone candle in front of him shining on his face. "W-who's there? No, no. No one is there. Just me. Hehe! And Lorkmir. Oh Lorkmir!" Faelian looked over at a deteriorating body. "Old buddy," he said, patting the carcass, "you're looking a little thin. Hehehe! You need some n-n-nourishment. YES! Nourishment, yes. Nourishment! Here, have s-some meat." He tossed some kind of meat at the rotting body.

"Eat up! Yes, eat up. You haven't eaten anything in quite a while, hehehe!"

Faelian leaned back against an old cupboard and took a swig from the drug of his desire: skooma. The small pink vile was depleted in a very short pull. Faelian looked longingly at the bottle before tossing it aside and grabbing another one.

"S-skooma is friend. Skoooma makes Faelian happy."

"Faelian!" Drayden barked.

This time Faelian jumped, spilling skooma over his attire. He looked down at his clothes, viciously grabbing at them, and tried to suck up what juice he could.

"Faelian, do you know what time it is?" Drayden moved silently about in the shadows, circling Faelian.

Faelian looked up with his shirt still in his mouth, but ceased his frivolous action. "W-what do you mean?" he said, slowly lowering his shirt from his mouth. "Who… who's there?" His voice trembled slightly. Drayden soaked up the fear he instilled in Faelian like an energy source, feeding his desire to truly incite fear until he struck a chord that would break the elf.

"Oh, now Faelian. Can you honestly tell me that you never expected this day to come?"

The look of fear on Faelian's face made Drayden's skin crawl with excitement.

"Can you tell me that the things you have done have never played on your conscience? Look at Lorkmir. You did that. And now it is your time to pay for what you've done." Drayden kept circling Faelian. Faelian slowly shook his head.

"No, no. I didn't mean it. He attacked me. He wanted MY skooma!" He screamed. "And now you want it for yourself. YES! That's why you are here. YES! You want m-my skoooma, don't you?"

Drayden paused. "Now Faelian, why would I want skooma when I can have your head?"

"Y-you want to eat my head?" Faelian looked out from the shadows. "But that sounds gross. Why? Why would you want to do that? Eww, yes, eww. That sounds… wait. You're kidding, right? You want my skooma, just admit it."

Drayden was semi-dumbstruck. How could someone go from utter fear to thinking this was some sort of game. Did Faelian really think this was a game? He continued circling, projecting his voice so it made him sound in many places at once.

"No, Faelian. I don't want your skooma. Your death will make me very happy. Just like skooma makes you happy. You will die Faelian. Right here. Right now."

Faelian stopped mid-gulp. He wiped his mouth clean of the substance then stood up. He opened his mouth, but it wasn't his voice anymore that came out.

Drayden froze in place. He now felt a pang of fear grip at him, one like he'd never felt before.

"No, assassin, it is not my death that will come this morning, but yours. Guards!"

Drayden flew into action the second he heard footsteps at the stairs. He knew he'd been set up. The perfect trap. And he was the mouse that couldn't resist biting into the cheese.

Faelian slumped over, a puppet used to lure him in. Drayden spat on the limp body. His mind was a waste, easily commanded by someone. He was outnumbered and the most obvious fact was that there was a mage somewhere in their midst, most likely protecting them. He'd need to locate the mage quickly before dealing with the guards.

Thinking quickly, he cast an invisibility spell, and hid while he watched as the group of soldiers filed in one after the other. But not one of them was a mage. They wouldn't risk a battle mage, either. Their skills are less than what a pure fighter or mage could be, not able to devote enough time to both to improve them beyond the adequate levels of both classes. No, none of them were. He could sense their individual auras, and not one of these soldiers could perform even the most rudimentary of spells.

Then who was controlling Faelian? If none of these soldiers could perform magically, then the mage who was had to be close by, but not necessarily in the house. With this deduction from his situation, Drayden moved out of the shadows, only to find that every soldier was following his movements.

"So, the mage cast life detection on you fine bastards?"

Adamas Phillida, surprisingly, was not among the seven soldiers standing before him. One of them took a step forward. Drayden slid his hand to his longsword accordingly, waiting for a chance to retaliate.

Let your enemy make the first move, Lucien whispered to him once in a spar between himself and one of Vincente's conjured demons.

The soldier spoke. "By way of affiliation with the Dark Brotherhood, you are hereby under arrest for the murder of countless innocents. Will you come quietly?"

Drayden grinned. "Well, by affiliation with the Dark Brotherhood, you should already know my answer."

The guard paused. Drayden knew they all expected him to decline a peaceful arrest. And he was sure some of them, if not all of them, even expected not to walk back up that stairwell.

"Very well then," the guard said, his voice betraying his forced confidence. "Take him alive, if possible. But don't hesitate, and don't underestimate him."

"Yessir," the other six said in unison. They filed out from behind the first soldier and into a defensive line.

Another quick thought came to mind. Drayden acted upon it and shot out seven simultaneous spells towards the guards. All seven of them flinched, afraid of what was to come. When the spell ended, and they found themselves alive, they were at first happy to just be alive, but once they noticed the effect, it was too late.

Drayden pounced forward, striking through the heart of the first guard, still invisible to their eyes.

It forced them into a chaotic and disorganized band of wildly sword swinging men when they heard the first guard's scream. Alban played on their fear now, and easily took care of the six others. But once he stood in a pool of their draining blood did he realize he still had Phillida somewhere to deal with, and this mysterious mage that took over Faelian's mind.

He looked around, but found no sign of life anywhere for quite a ways. His instincts told him danger was near, but that was impossible. No one can hide from life detection. All the same, Drayden proceeded with caution.

He slowly made his way back up into the cluttered foyer, the door flapping in a low gust of wind outside. He was set up. The oiled hinges would allow for men to soundlessly enter the house. And a simple levitation spell could have elevated the soldiers enough in order to bypass the cluttered floor. He cursed aloud and made his way for the door, careless of who could now hear. He just had to make it back to the brotherhood to relay the details of this mission. But could it have been from within the brotherhood? Had someone given vital intelligence to the imperial swine? He almost couldn't believe it, but he knew it was true.

He needed to find Lucien.

Drayden then involuntarily froze not two feet from the door. His skin tingled, but with adrenaline and fear rather than excitement. His legs wouldn't move. His hands wouldn't budge. He told them over and over to do so, but they just wouldn't. A hand touched his back. He knew this was the end.

"Going somewhere so soon, assassin?"

The mage. That was his voice. Unmistakable, smooth and firm, but in some strange way actually soothing.

"You have a lot to account for. I'm not letting you get away so easily."

A man garbed in a rich blue robe, embroidered with golden filigree around the wrists and neck. The Archmagister?

Another voice. This one, as well, was unmistakable, for all the brotherhood could identify his voice just by a whisper.

Adamus stepped up next to the mage. He wore a glare like none Drayden had seen. It was actually quite intimidating, now that he'd seen it firsthand.

"I'm going to have quite some fun with you, assassin. Oh, you'll squeal and you'll protest, but sooner or later I'll have my answers."

The Arch Mage gently touched Adamus with a dark blue-gloved hand. "Easy, Adamus. You'll have your time for interrogation, but we first need to get him into a holding cell. Call for ten of your most highly trained guards, and I'll send three of my best magicians."

The mage looked at Drayden. "For our protection as much as yours."

Then his world went black. The last thing Drayden remembered thinking was how they could have possibly avoided his detection.

How could he have been so reckless?

And worst of all, would he become a shadow of what he used to be?


	2. Caged

**Caged**

Walls. Gray. Silence. Doesn't resemble the sanctuary. Dear Sithis, what happened?

Drayden sat up and reached behind to a raw spot on the back of his head. It hurt to touch even with the slightest of pressure. And such a headache followed. He tried to pull his hands free.

Shackled.

His feet, too.

He opened his eyes fully. He was in a cell. A prison.

A flood of images crashed back into his mind, elevating his headache to an inconceivable degree. But… yes, he remembered. His mission. The target.

The trap.

Drayden crashed back down on his mattress pad with a huff. A stray spring dug into his thigh, but he cared little for any other pain than his massing headache. His muscles throbbed profusely and his head swam with nostalgia as he soaked in his surroundings.

It was a cell much like this that Lucien had rescued him from all those years ago.

For five years he served directly under Lucien. And after his training was complete, not six months following his arrival at the Cheydinhal Sanctuary did Lucien come back and say a spy somehow wormed his way within the northeastern chapter.

It had only been a week, Drayden remembered, since Lucien first assigned him the mission. How did the spy figure out so quickly that his mission was really to ferret out the lies? Or were they all in it together? Most likely. That must have been what Lucien said when he told Drayden of the purification. Lucien suspected they all had a part in the compromise of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary.

Drayden sat up on his mattress, avoiding the loose spring, and leaned back up against the wall. He inhaled but found the air disgusting, and instead took in shorter breaths so as to minimalize the smell intake. It helped some, but still the air was absolutely putrid. He could handle intense smells for a little while, but eventually it would get too overwhelming. Even for his murdering self, he never acquired a taste for the smell of death. And this dungeon reeked of it.

But perhaps it wasn't the smell so much as having to actually endure it for the gods know how long. He looked around the cell, observing anything and everything possible that just might give him some sort of leverage, or spring some sort of plan into mind for a future escape. A pair of chains dangled from the wall to his right, but otherwise, the cell was devoid of anything useful.

A small, unobstructed window sat high in the eastern wall allowing a direct beam of sunlight to stream into the otherwise dimly lit dungeon. It was daytime. Early morning, he figured, by way of the cold glow the light gave off. No plans could be hatched now, not during the day. He'd need the full cover of night to perform any escape.

Many boots sounded outside his cell, down the hall he deduced by the distorted sound of the distant echoing thud. But steadily it grew nearer, and somehow Drayden knew the Arch Mage was among them. Several of the sounds were hard, like a legionnaire's boots, but one sound stuck out from the rest. He knew the mage had come to see him.

Drayden leaned back against the wall and let his ashen hair fall over his eyes. His mind wandered for a moment before the guards walked in, two on either side of the Arch Mage, the other six guards and three other mages waiting dutifully outside. They really did not want to take any chances, what with an assassin locked tightly away. Drayden chuckled darkly, evaluating his chances of escape right now. The Arch Mage pushed aside a lock of his dark hair and lifted an eyebrow in confusion.

"What do you find so funny, assassin?" the Arch Mage inquired. He snapped his fingers. Another mage, garbed in a similar but far less ornate robe than his leader's, brought in two stools, placing them before Drayden. Their eyes locked for a second. The mage was young. He put on a tough façade, but Drayden clearly saw the fear in his eyes. How fun would it be to torture him?

Drayden chuckled again, watching as the young mage backed away from him, front forwards, until he passed the Arch Mage.

"It's nothing," Drayden replied, locking eyes with the Arch Mage. "Just some interesting thoughts."

"Of course," the man replied, finding his seat. "Please, join me."

Why the cause for courtesy? Surely this man despised Drayden as much, if not more so, than Drayden despised him.

"I'm fine right where I am," Drayden said harshly.

"Suit yourself." The Arch Mage looked at the small table to his right. A clay pitcher that Drayden hadn't noticed before rested on the table and alongside it a plate with a fresh slice of bread. The Arch Mage produced from the folds of his robe two glasses, offering one to Drayden. When Drayden refused, he shrugged and took a small chunk and poured himself a glass of water.

"So, assassin, how does it feel to have been duped?"

Drayden glared at him, but replied with malice not aimed directly at him. Though, he fully intended the Arch Mage to feel his anger. "It was not you that duped me, mage." He looked away. "I was betrayed."

The Arch Mage lifted both eyebrows now. "Oh? And how have you come to this conclusion?"

Drayden focused on a small stone at the base of his feet. He picked it up and looked forward. A guard went to unsheathe his sword, but the Arch Mage stopped him.

"We'll have no violence here," he said, looking sternly at the guard as much as he was at Drayden. More so, maybe.

The mage turned back to Drayden. "Forgive him, but we know you can cast spells. I sense your magicka, and I can tell you've been trained well. But trust me; you'll never escape this prison, not with my men here. You may intimidate them, but they have seen plenty enough to know how to react in a dangerous situation. Now if you don't mind, let's continue."

"With what?" Drayden asked, tossing the stone aside.

"With our conversation, of course," the Arch Mage replied.

"So, you call taunting me a conversation?"

"Taunting you?" The Arch Mage asked, puzzled by Drayden's words. "I am merely trying to carry on a conversation with an assassin. Why would you think I am taunting you?"

Drayden shrugged. "I don't know. Waving my failure around in my face isn't exactly what I would constitute as friendly chatter."

The Arch Mage squared his shoulders. "Might I remind you, assassin, that your so called failure was only possible because of Adamus's planned assassination."

Drayden looked at him, puzzled.

"We were confident we would stop you before you executed Faelian. A success, if I might say so."

"No, the only reason my failure made your trap a success is due to a betrayal." Drayden leaned back against the wall and tilted his head, exposing half of his face from beneath his hair.

"You keep saying that." The Arch Mage ripped off another piece of bread. "Would you care to elaborate?" He offered the piece to Drayden. Drayden still refused, though he found his rising hunger painstakingly difficult to resist.

The mage sighed, then lightly chuckled. "Your stubbornness is most intriguing," he said. "But I suppose it befits the life of an assassin."

"What do you want with me?" Drayden growled.

The Arch Mage stopped his actions and looked up to the window. He seemed to be calculating something. He smiled then stood.  
"In due time. For now, I bid you farewell, assassin." He bowed his head, before turning about.

Drayden followed the mage's movements as he exited the cell, leaving behind two mages and four guards. One of the guards mumbled, but otherwise they all remind silent. Drayden cursed and laid back down, confused by his meeting. He knew the mage was searching for something, but he couldn't piece together what it was. Though, Drayden found himself interested in his discussion. There was something about that man that Drayden found enticing.

It confused him to no end, to be on the side where he was the one searching for answers. Drayden resolved to display patience.

"Until our next meeting," Drayden whispered before allowing his mind to wander into the realm of dreams.


	3. A Prisoner's Rent

**A Prisoner's Rent**

"Wake up, scumbag." Adamus kicked Drayden in his side, slamming Drayden against the wall. Drayden reacted and shot up, prepared to strike, but, seeing who his assailant was, he sank back into an alert stance. He held his side, bruised most likely, though he'd endured far worse. Luckily, Adamus wasn't wearing his usual metal legionnaire boots. Instead, the captain of the guard sufficed to wearing a standard pair of leathers. Drayden growled and sank back to his mattress.

"I said get up, ogre fodder." Adamus threw another kick at Drayden.

Drayden caught Adamus's foot. "No, you said wake up. There's a difference." He forced Adamus's foot away and squared his shoulders.

Adamus growled and backslapped Drayden. Drayden tilted his head back to Adamus after a moment. He raised his hand to his mouth, wiping away the blood caused by Adamus's strike. Sure, it stung, but it was the part of a resilient, unwavering prisoner he needed to play, especially under interrogation. Though, he knew he would have to steel himself for the beating to come. He knew how this worked, having done it many a time to extract vital information. And that is exactly what Adamus wanted from him. Information to bring down the brotherhood. He could never do something so despicable. Lucien had invariably taught him to rid the brotherhood of rats, not add to the betrayals.

"Impressive," he said, adding in as much sarcasm as possible while steeling his voice. He knew he would have to be steadfast for Adamus's interrogation. "I half expected you to hit like a drunken goblin."

"Well, aren't we the funny guy." Adamus mimicked a laugh and pulled up a stool. He sat before Drayden, a smirk on his face, his hands placed firmly on his knees.

"You know," he said, putting a hand to his chin, rubbing the gray stubble coalescing on the lower ridge of his jaw, "I remember the last time I was here. I mean with an assassin as my prisoner. Actually, it was one of you bastards I had in this prison. What a shame. His mind was such a waste." Adamus muttered a curse.

"What?" asked Drayden. "Couldn't get any valuable information from him? Perhaps you tried too hard."

Adamus stared icily into Drayden's eyes. "He was on the verge of telling me everything!" He reached out and punched the nearest wall, the skin on his knuckles splitting. It oozed a thick red stream from between the parted skin for near a minute before he looked at it and carried on.

"You know, assassin, your kind apparently isn't quite fond of betrayals. I would call it sanity, were you to confide your brotherhood's demented secrets to me. Oh, how I would love to rid the world of every last assassin. To purify Tamriel of your filth. But your so called brotherhood, they call it insanity. They kill every chance they get, even their own men under the wrong circumstances."

Drayden glared at Phillida. What did he mean? He knew, of course, that betrayers were sentenced to death. But what did he mean by the "wrong" circumstances?

"I see it in your eyes," Adamus said. "I can see the confusion. You want to know what I speak of."

Drayden remained silent.

Adamus chuckled. "The one assassin I managed to break was visited by another of your assassin's, not to be rescued, but to be executed."

"He had a weak mind," Drayden replied.

Adamus shook his head. "On the contrary, it took two full weeks of solid beatings before I could break him to the point of even telling me his name. And another four to admit to some semi-vital information concerning pending assassinations. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to extract the information quickly enough.

"Thirteen murders occurred over the following three days, within the Imperial City alone, all of which I had not the power in my grasp to stop." Adamus clenched his bleeding fist.

Drayden was amazed at the level of endurance the assassin held in Adamus's custody had shown. But something about the tale rang a particular bell in the recesses of his mind.

"It was because of your brotherhood I could not get any more information out of him. They apparently scheduled him for an execution."

The memory struck Drayden like an angry orc smashing his chest with a hammer. He remembered it clearly now. He was the one assigned to kill the prisoner being tortured by Adamus, though he was never told why. He was never told it was a fellow brother on the verge of exploiting their most treasured secrets after a month and a half of solid physical abuse. He would have, perhaps, tried to rescue the assassin instead. To waste such a resolute mind.

Drayden's stomach clenched. A wave of nausea threatened to rise beyond the bowels of his stomach. But no, he had to find a way to justify this. The assassin was about to let loose his tongue and compromise the brotherhood. Killing him was the wisest move to make. It saved the brotherhood from men like Adamus. It saved them from internal corruption. It was the right thing to do.

Adamus saw the chain of thoughts play across Drayden's face as if he was relaying them with pictures. "It was you," he growled. "You killed him!" He stood up from his seat so fast, the stool flew backwards. "You brought on a public humiliation that has lasted the past three years!"

Drayden looked up at Adamus, forcing a wicked smile. "Only one can make a fool of himself," Drayden said. "You've become so caught up with ghosts it's put you in an eternal spotlight of shame. You'll never have the brotherhood. But we shall gladly aid in your quest of self-degradation."

"Why, you insolent swine." Adamus slammed his fist into Drayden's stomach.

He hit like a brick wall, thought Drayden as he gasped for air. His vision started to flicker, black and red around the edges. Drayden closed his eyes for a quick moment while pulling in a fresh breath.

"Face it," he said, "you'll never get what you want out of me. I'll prove I can last longer."

"No, you don't get it." Adamus pulled his stool back and sat with a huff. "Your brotherhood, just as you've said, doesn't tolerate betrayers." He stopped for a moment, obviously deep in thought. He mumbled a few things, most of which Drayden completely missed.

"Double patrols," he said. Adamus looked up. "This is going to be fun." He walked up to Drayden, putting on a mail glove.

Drayden braced himself. The brotherhood wouldn't execute him. Lucien, if no one else, would rescue him before the interrogations got out of control, he just knew it.

"Dear Sithis, help me," he pleaded.

"Sithis?" Adamus hissed in disgust. "You'll regret ever using such a foul name in my presence," he growled, driving his fist into Drayden's stomach.

His world flashed dark, but he pressed through. He had to. He needed to.

His life depended on it.

---

Something cool and wet gently brushed Drayden's bruised and sporadically broken flesh. A hand cradled his head, tenderly lifting it up. A cool liquid poured over his lips. They involuntarily parted to allow the liquid access into his parched gullet. His dry throat produced an automated groan as it felt the immediate relieving effects. Drayden sighed in relief.

The last time he ever had someone show such care for him was nearly seven years ago – before his days as an assassin.

Drayden's left eye was swollen shut. Both of his cheeks were stripped raw from Adamus's gauntlet. He forced his right eye open, wincing as he did so. Brown hair, pulled back tightly. A blue robe adorned the person. A man. The mage? The Arch Mage was tending to his wounds?

"Why?" Drayden rasped.

The Arch Mage looked at him with concern-riddled eyes. "Don't talk," the mage kindly whispered. "Adamus took his interrogations too far."

Drayden waved away the mage's help. "No," he said. "He actually did quite well. For a guard."

"Must you be so stubborn?"

Drayden shrugged. "It comes with the title."

"It doesn't have to."

Drayden locked eyes with the Arch Mage.

"Why are you here?" Drayden asked. The Arch Mage was after something. He could sense it. He wanted something from Drayden. Or he wanted Drayden to do something. Was he just trying to butter Drayden up, then would set him free and request a favor for all his good deeds? Or evil deeds, dependent on how you look at it. Adamus sure as hell would. But… no. That was wishful thinking. There was something pure about the Arch Mage. Something Drayden couldn't quite place. Something that, though he tried reasoning the feeling, frightened him a little.

The Arch Mage looked at him with a sideward glance. He dipped the rag again into a pail of water. He looked at Drayden to first acknowledge that he was here to help, then dabbed it lightly on Drayden's swollen eye. After a moment, Drayden cast off the help.

"Why are you here?" he repeated.

The Arch Mage sighed. He put the rag down then looked directly at Drayden. His eyes were a soft brown. Much wisdom housed itself in them. He'd seen things, horrible things. And through all of it, the mage had grown stronger, and more resolute towards his cause. But what was it?

The Arch Mage looked aside for a moment and surveyed the room. "When I first saw you, assassin," he said, looking to the side, "there was a quality about you that stuck out to me. Try as I may, however, I shall never fully understand it." He turned his head to his other side. "But I heard something. A confidence in your voice that, when channeled properly, can become quite… valuable to a particular cause."

Of course. The catch. "And what might that cause be?" asked Drayden, folding his arms.

The Arch Mage sucked in a sharp breath. He let it out slowly. "The cause you fight for and the cause I fight for may be on the opposite sides of the spectrum, assassin, but there is a common ground."

"A common ground? Between your views on light and dark?"

The mage turned his attention back to Drayden. He furrowed his brow and said, "Light and Dark are insubstantial when compared with causes beyond the ordinary. With causes beyond the natural."

He was speaking in riddles. "What is it that you want from me, mage?" Drayden asked sharply.

"Well, it is a tenuous subject, seeing as how you have only been here a few days. But, perhaps I can make it work for you to get out. Somewhat."

Drayden was confused. They were going to let him out. As in release him. Apparently Drayden's thoughts were easy to read.

"It won't work the way you think," The Arch Mage said. "You will, for all intents and purposes, remain a prisoner."

"What do you mean? Why do this?" Drayden felt his ears and neck burning. He had expected them to try and keep him here forever, but now the Arch Mage was basically promising him freedom. And soon. Even to the minor extent he let on to would be better than nothing. But why toy with him? What was this man planning to do with him? Why even help him out? What was going on in that confusing head of his?

The Arch Mage smiled and looked back up at the setting sun. "Nothing is one-hundred percent a go on this, I hope you understand." He looked back down to a hopeful Drayden. "But I am doing everything in my power to make this happen."

"Make what happen?" Drayden growled. "Why are you even doing this?"

The Arch Mage's smile widened. "In due time."

Drayden slammed his fist against his mattress as the gate locked shut behind the departing Arch Mage. He threw his head down on the uncomfortable pad with a groan. His body ached profusely. He thought about relieving the pain with some quick restoration spells, but there was some part of him that wanted to endure the pain. To prove something. To prove he had it in him to withstand Adamus's torture.

Drayden sighed and thought about what the Arch Mage had said about his partial freedom. The main problem was that he didn't know what they would have him doing. And, could he escape whatever they had planned for him?

The table against the left wall had some fresh food on it, most likely left by the Arch Mage.

And that was another thing. Why would the Arch Mage care about him? He knew the mage had an angle he was shooting for. But every possible reason Drayden came up with was either completely preposterous and not physically possible, or completely insane. In any case, he knew the Arch Mage was planning something.

And whatever it was, he knew in the back of his mind he wanted a part of it.


	4. Questions Only Raise More Questions

**Questions Only Raise More Questions**

The Arch Mage visited Drayden everyday for the first week, relentlessly drilling him with questions pertaining to his life as an assassin, a subject Drayden could never get quite comfortable talking to a non-assassin about. Even with most other assassin's did he rarely ever bring up the subject, instead preferring to tune in to the absent-minded banter carried on between his now almost certainly defective colleagues. Lucien was really the only one who ever seemed interested in how his life fared. But thinking about anything but the inside of his eyelids pained him. He needed rest, and the Arch Mage certainly wasn't helping any with his incessant chats.

After the first two days of interrogation with Adamus his mind began its steady decline into a less stable and less safe place to harbor his thoughts, growing vastly weary, not only from the physical beatings, but also from the mental stress of his inquisitor's psychological probing. In a way, he actually looked forward to his daily meetings with the Arch Mage, a wonderful respite from Adamus. He didn't know if he could take it much longer, and although he somehow miraculously managed to hold on to his own name, several others' may have slipped from his tongue, though the names that had meant little more to him than dust blowing away in the wind.

An idea sprang to mind about how to complete his mission given by Lachance. It would not only relieve himself of Adamus's presence, but also of the entire Cheydinhal chapter. But no. He couldn't. He couldn't risk compromising the brotherhood. The people inside he didn't care about, but that division must remain a sacred place. Lucien would never forgive him.

"What are you thinking about," the Arch Mage inquired, bringing Drayden's attention back to the present. His enigmatic and unfathomable green eyes followed Drayden's every movement. It was a little disconcerting having someone pay such close attention to everything he did. In all honesty, he almost liked the transparent effect this mage seemed to cast on him. He somehow knew when Drayden was thinking something worth mentioning. Though, of course, he couldn't share such knowledge with anyone, let alone a non-assassin. No, let alone a brotherhood member. If they knew he willingly contemplated, even if he had quickly dispelled the thought immediately, on uprooting any chapter whatsoever it would certainly speak volumes of a greater treason than any ever conceived.

Drayden shook his head and leaned it back against the rough stone wall.

The Arch Mage shrugged and asked another question, though this one pierced Drayden's conscience to a new depth he'd never experienced.

"Why did you decide to join the brotherhood?"

But why did he care so much about who Drayden was? Why his interest in the Dark Brotherhood? Why even keep him alive if not to torture him and, if not, kill him off.

"Why do you care so much about who I am and what I've done?"

The Arch Mage chuckled. "I am merely trying to get to know you. I find you to be an interesting individual."

"What's so interesting about me, huh?" Drayden snapped. "Here, you know what? I'll spell it out for you, all right?"

Drayden made sure he had the mage's complete attention. As usual, he did.

"I am a murderer. I kill people for a living. Does it have to be any more complicated than that? Doesn't it concern you that just as easily as snapping my fingers I could kill you?"

The Arch Mage's eyes welled with a fire he had never before seen. "Just because I have left the accompaniment of the legion outside does not mean you could so easily handle me, assassin," he hissed. He regained his composure and softened his voice. "But in any case, no, I am not afraid. I think I know you better than you give me credit for. And I don't believe you would kill me, even if I were to allow it to happen."

"And what makes you think that?" Drayden folded his arms across his chest. "I have killed before. What makes you think your life means more to me than any of those who have crossed my path?"

"Because I know, even though you say you enjoy it, there is a part of you that loathes the act. Despite your self-proclaimed profession, you cannot escape what lies deep inside you."

Drayden was taken aback. Did he really think so? "Oh? And what is that? Do you really believe I care anything for anyone other than myself? I serve only one person, and that is me."

"You know it, even though you may not recognize it. There is a semblance of true justice in you, somewhere."

Drayden let out a harsh laugh. The Arch Mage stood up. This infuriated Drayden to no end, though he didn't know why.

"Where do you think you're going?" he barked.

The Arch Mage turned around, locking eyes with Drayden, drilling him with a stare so intense he felt he just might be losing some sanity. "Our time is up, Drayden."

Drayden's face softened from a grimace. His anger melted instantly. "B-but… how do you know my name?"

"As I said, I know more than you give me credit for."

Drayden slammed his fist into the ground. "How do you know my name?" he repeated. He needed to know. Had the mage already given his identity away to Adamus?

As if reading his thought, the Arch Mage smiled warmly and said, "Your secrets are safe with me. I will not betray your identity to anyone."

"B-but… why?" Drayden did not understand this man. And who was he to know Drayden's name? How could he possibly know that?

The Arch Mage replied with his enigmatic phrase before departing, "In due time."

Drayden leaned back, and curled his knees tightly into his chest. A tear rolled down his cheek. Oh great, he thought, I'm losing my sanity after all. It worried him because he didn't know how much longer he had. If he revealed any more information on the brotherhood before finding a way of escaping, and soon, they would surely send someone to find him.

And he would not walk away a rescued man.


	5. The Choice of Redemption

**The Choice of Redemption**

Drayden huddled in a corner beneath the window, his body shivering with pain. In the early stages of his torture, Drayden escaped most of the post-procedural pain by casting remedies on his body. But adapting to the situation, Adamus wizened up, noticing how his prisoner remained in a physically decent condition. His mind, of course, suffered, though not nearly to the degree Adamus aimed for with the lack of physical maladies to confuse his mind with.

If Drayden wished to live, he needed to eat, and Adamus made sure to mix in magicka-hindering narcotics in with every meal and drink given to his prisoner. Drayden noticed the effects immediately when spells wouldn't come to mind, no matter how hard he focused. The ingredients were so potent, in fact, the effects would last for days on end. Drayden just couldn't go that long without sustenance if he ever planned on escaping. He needed his body to be strengthened.

Drayden cursed the mages used to formulate such powerful potions. Angered, he punched the wall, forgetting in his rage that he couldn't mend his now broken flesh back together. Drayden cursed louder. But more than he was angry at his situation, he was angry with himself for ending up here. And more than he was angry with himself, he was scared.

Drayden couldn't remember the last time he felt a fear like this. In spite of the tough façade he tried so hard to display, Drayden couldn't escape it. He was afraid. Of the pain. Of his future. Of death.

A harsh laugh escaped his lips as he mulled over the last ironic thought. He went from one who so easily inflicted pain and suffering to one being forced to endure it. A murderer who was afraid of death.

"Perhaps the Arch Mage was right," Drayden whispered to himself.

"Of course I am," The Arch Mage said, walking in.

Drayden looked up, surprised. The Arch Mage walked in, not garbed in his usual ornate, silken attire, but in a plain mage's garment.

"What are you doing here?" Drayden asked, his voice burdened with exhaustion. "I thought you abandoned our conversations. You haven't been here for the past two days."

The Arch Mage looked at him with saddened eyes. He shook his head and smiled. "I do apologize, but I have a choice to be made on your part. A proposition, if you will. Should you accept it, you may find the path ending with your freedom."

Drayden looked at him quizzically. "What are you talking about? Don't taunt me, mage, I am tired of this."

The Arch Mage crossed his arms. "I am not one known to bait for no apparent reason. And there is no reason for it here. What I speak is the truth, and it shall be up to you to accept it. Perhaps one day you shall regain the dignity you had prior to your days branded as a murderer."

Drayden looked at the man in disbelief. "I am sworn to secrecy. I could not betray my brotherhood. Even if I wished it. I am sworn on pain of death, and…" Drayden trailed off, lowering his eyes.

"You fear death more than the consequences for participating in it." Drayden looked up to the Arch Mage. The man's eyes were full of guilt, but they were resolved. "I cannot promise you this path will mean you and escape from death, because it will be riddled with death. But what I can promise you is that if you come out on top, you will be recognized more so for what feat you've accomplished than what you have done. The people will know you, and that is much more powerful than any recognition given by even the greatest of leaders. This much I can promise."

What was this man ranting on about? He didn't want fame. He wanted freedom. Drayden, as usual, tried to decipher the man's words. He failed miserably and gave in to asking, "What is this plan of yours?"

The Arch Mage paced. "Well, my original plan stemmed far from this. In fact, this was my very last choice, but it was the only one I could get Chancellor Ocato to even acknowledge."

"Spit it out already, mage. I grow weary of your riddles."

The Arch Mage turned to Drayden, a look of hurt on his face. His features softened a bit, but it was clear Drayden's words stung.

"I'm sorry," Drayden said. "It's just that my life is hanging on the line here, quite literally. And, if I'm not mistaken, I just might be in more danger than I am currently in."

"Quite," the Arch Mage said. He turned his gaze away for a moment. It was evident he contemplated on how to structure his next words. "I have been working with the Chancellor ever since you have arrived. He finally gave me a chance to help you redeem yourself."

"And?" Drayden said after a lengthy pause.

"Tell me," The Arch Mage said with a meek smile, "how do you feel about becoming a combatant in the Arena."

Drayden held up his hands in protest. "Wait." Now it was Drayden's turn to pace back and forth. "You're telling me that I've been sentenced to prison for murder, and now in order to be set free I must kill more? What game are you playing here?"

"I won't participate in any game. You will. The Chancellor sees it a fit punishment," the Arch Mage said, shrugging his shoulders. "Your life will be on the line. He also enjoys the sport, though for reasons I cannot fathom. Personally, I find the Arena the vilest place in all of Tamriel."

Drayden shook his head, dumbfounded. This was the most absurd thing he had ever heard. Forcing a murderer to fight for his life. Drayden chuckled darkly.

The Arch Mage glared. "Yes. It is ironic."

Drayden shook his head, a frown playing on his lips. "I don't know. This… I mean. I am so confused by all of this."

The Arch Mage laid a hand on his shoulder. "Look. I know I have said it before, but there is something about you. Something very special. I can sense it. I am an avid follower of the eight plus one, and in all my years I have never felt a pull so strongly as the one I have with you. They have something incredible planned for you, Drayden, and it will be up to you to follow their plans."

Drayden had never been one for the nine, but if it meant his freedom, he just might be willing to acknowledge them. But… there was the brotherhood. He couldn't abandon them. His oaths. His ties to them could not break so easily. And honestly, he wasn't sure he wanted them to.

"Leave me," he said. "It is apparent I have much to think about."

"Yes, Drayden, you do." The Arch Mage turned to leave, but paused next to the table. He removed something folded in a piece of cloth and laid it down on the table.

Once the Arch Mage departed, Drayden rushed over to the cloth. Inside was a freshly baked loaf of bread with a couple sweet rolls. He looked up, hoping the Arch Mage would have stayed to see the smile of his face, but the man had already departed down the hall, the soft padding of his shoes a faint echo in the hall.

---

Drayden tossed and turned in his sleep. Nightmare after nightmare assaulted his dreams, each worse than the one before. A cold sweat beaded down his face and neck, chilling his skin as if winter's air caressed his flesh with barbed fingers. In his dreams he imaged being engulfed by a stinging mist. The pain only intensified until he could bare it no more.

The dream shifted. He stood in a place that looked incredibly familiar, still dressed in his prisoner's clothing. In fact, he knew he'd been here before, but he couldn't quite place it yet. A foyer with a single door embedded in the left and right walls. Several pillars had crumbled, letting in a cold light from above. Ahead, a narrower hall curved off to the left, the smell of death wafting from there. He blanched for a moment, but felt compelled to walk forward.

He rounded the first corner to find several trails of blood leading down a flight of steps. More rubble lined this hall, and as Drayden looked closer he noticed several bodies, familiar, but unfamiliar at the same time. Though as he scanned their attire, he froze momentarily. They were the supposed traitors. This was the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Drayden felt a pulling to continue. He didn't necessarily want to, but for some strange reason he knew he had to.

The hall wound around to the left into a small room. The rest of the bodies were scattered about the room – Vincente's room. A figure huddled over the prone bodies, feasting on them, but it was not Vincente. It was someone else. A man garbed in a Speaker's black robes. He slowly rose from his meal, blood dripping from his mouth. Another vampire?

Drayden hurled off to the side. When he looked up from his vomit the speaker was facing him. Alban was confused because the man's face was one that he knew all too well. A face belonging to a man he revered.

"Hello, Drayden," Lucien hissed, a vicious maw grinning, fang-like canines included.

Drayden looked from Lucien's blood crusted face to the bodies he feasted on. "What is going on here?" Drayden backed away slowly.

"What? You don't like my new set of teeth?" Lucien grinned maliciously. He proceeded forward at a steady gait, forcing Drayden back into the double-doors he came through, which, to Drayden's chagrin, had somehow closed behind him. "Don't tell me you're afraid."

Draydem shook his head. "N-no. Of course not. I'm not afraid. I just… what happened to you?"

Lucien straightened and teased his teeth with his tongue. "A blessing," he said, looking at Drayden with a peculiar fire in his eyes. He began his slow walk again, nearing ever closer to Drayden. He opened and closed his fists, his fingertips seemingly growing sharp as razors. He lifted them to Drayden, and then crouched in one lightning quick and fluid motion, before pouncing forward.

Drayden managed to loose free one door and dodged aside, causing Lucien to crash into the other door. The Speaker howled in pain, slashing at the air where Drayden had been just a second before. Drayden raced back into the hall and up the stairs. He looked forward where the door leading into the basement was supposed to be, only it wasn't there. Instead, a gaping hole sat there, filled with darkness. A dark liquid oozed outward from it, and with it came a hissing voice. It didn't say anything Drayden could comprehend, but he clearly understood the message buried in the incomprehensible words. It wanted him dead.

Lucien growled behind him. Drayden looked up to the broken in roof and jumped with all his might. He grasped hold of a beam and threw his other hand up to get a better hold of it. As quick as he could he pulled himself up, lithely swinging his legs and feet up to rest on the beam. He propelled himself upward onto a more solid piece of flooring.

"Boo." Drayden jumped back, almost falling down into the hole. "Oh no you don't." Lucien grabbed Drayden by his shirt. Only now it was his assassin's raiment.

Drayden locked eyes with Lucien. They were clear of any hostility. And he smiled, his grin devoid of fangs. Drayden looked around. He was in a stone hallway, a gaping hole behind him dropping down thirty or more feet onto a deathly pit of spikes. Drayden looked at Lucien in confusion.

"I can't have such a promising pupil fall to his death on only the first day of his acrobatics training." Lucien pulled Drayden forward, forcing him back into balance.

It was his first day of training? Drayden remembered it, though none too clearly. He remembered vaguely what he had to say, but he didn't want to. Something was wrong about all of this.

His lips moved against his will. "But Master, if you are to save me every time I am about to fall than how am I going to learn to pick myself up?"

"Ah, spoken like a true assassin," Lucien said, smiling. "Indeed. Forgive me."

Drayden nodded.

The scene shifted again. Drayden hovered over a lifeless body. He caressed an ashen face with one hand, the other intertwined with a lock of jet-black hair. Drayden forced himself to look down at the face. A slow stream of tears spilled uncontrollably from his eyes.

"The reason," he whispered.

Then his world went black.

---

Drayden shot upright with a start. A feverish sweat covered him from head to toe. Heavy, broken breaths wracked his chest. He grabbed at his heart. It felt as if it might explode.

What was that all about, he thought. The intensity of it, and the utter reality. Drayden got to his knees and bent over till he was on all fours, feeling a wave of nausea rise beyond the realms of his stomach, into his throat, ending on the floor of his cell. Drayden wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his tattered shirt. He looked up to the window.

Another wave of nausea threatened to overpower him. He looked back down, disappointed. It was still night outside and, by the looks of it, he still had several hours to go before the sun reared its not-so-ugly head. Never had he actually wished for day to come.

A whisper caught his attention. It came from somewhere beyond the borders of his cell door.

"Pssst!" The whisper came louder.

Drayden inched closer to the gate. He peered out from between the door's bars, and stared directly across his cell. A beady pair of crimson eyes stared back into his.

"Hey, Dunmer," the dark elf said, "what are you in for?"

Drayden cocked his head to the side, debating whether or not he should share any information with another prisoner. And where did he come from? When did he arrive? Surely, Drayden would have woken up to the sound of a prisoner being dragged down the hall and tossed into another cell.

Deciding it would be all right, Drayden said, "Murder, friend. And yourself?"

The other Dunmer was quiet for a moment. When he spoke his voice was harsh, a little maniacal, and dripping with mockery.

He cackled then said, "A little this and a little of that. But mostly for tapping into some… err, Imperial Reservoirs, if you catch my meaning." He winked. He licked his lips, and said, "Some sure fine reservoirs, you can trust me on that."

Drayden nodded slowly. "Right. Well, I'll just be going now. I have much needed sleep to catch up on, and I'd hate to think I'd be depriving you of the same."

"Wait," the dark elf said, "don't leave yet. Do you know how long it has been since I actually had an actual conversation with another intelligible being? Too long, let me tell you right now. Besides, I'm not tired. I've spent most of my time here just sleeping. It's the only thing, really, to do."

So true, thought Drayden.

"So, how long have you been in?" The dark elf inched closer to his cell door, a lone beam of light illuminating his features.

Drayden quickly counted it up. "Almost three weeks. And yourself?"

The elf sank bank into the shadows, the only remaining visible evidence that he was still there were his eyes and his voice. "Too long," he said, closing his eyes.

Drayden heard him sigh. A soft thud soon followed, and with it a boisterous noise. He was asleep. Drayden chuckled. "So much for not being tired."

Drayden hung his head and slunk back to his mattress. He peered forward towards the other prisoner's cell, his mind steadfastly resolved on his choice. He would become a combatant. He couldn't wait for fate to forget him. If there was anything he'd learned from the brotherhood that was worthwhile, it was that you had to cease each and every opportunity, no matter how preposterous, and make it work to your liking.

Besides, the thought of fighting for life seemed an interesting challenge. One he'd never thought of before. And one he certainly never saw himself participating in for sport. Drayden smiled and sank back to his mattress, his mind quickly succumbing to rest.


	6. Introduced Into the Bloodworks

**Introduced into the Bloodworks**

The Arch Mage smiled wide when Drayden accepted his offer. Though, in Drayden's mind this was merely part of his plan to escape. That is, if a chance ever presented itself before the gods know how long it would be until he actually "earned" his freedom. It still confused him as to why they would allow a murderer freedom. But it infuriated Adamus to such a pleasurable degree in Drayden's perspective, it more than made up for his bewilderment.

The original guards and mages, plus one more magician, accompanied the Arch Mage when he came to finally usher Drayden to the Arena, his new temporary home. Though, the morning he was awoken by the Arch Mage to be escorted from the prison, he failed to see where the new prisoner went off to. Synderius was his name, and he proved a fairly talkative individual. It was nice to have a fellow inmate to converse with, but it did sadden him to relocate without hearing what happened to the other elf.

When he asked the Arch Mage if Synderius had been set free, or something along those lines, the Arch Mage simply replied with a smile and said, "It's something like that."

Curse his riddles, Drayden mentally grumbled.

As the small host of escorts and Drayden stepped out into the sunlight, Drayden paused for a moment and stood in the sun's light, motionless, absorbing and fully enjoying its warm, caressing touch. He didn't know how often he would be able to visit the sun, so he wanted to enjoy it as much as possible as they made their slow steady march towards the bowels of the Arena. A guard at the rear of the convoy pushed him along until they reached the great circular combatant sanctuary.

Drayden's initial reaction was surprise. Not only did a loud clatter resound from the depths, but also a fairly pleasant scent came with it. Sure, the mixture of grime and blood stained walls were mixed in with the scent, not to mention the ungodsly saline stench, but it was, actually, pleasant to breath in something other than death.

"Food," Drayden whispered.

The Arch Mage wrinkled his nose in disapproval, but forced a smile on Drayden's behalf. Drayden winked.

"Well, this is where we must part," the Arch Mage said.

Drayden looked at him and said jokingly, "What? No kiss goodbye?"

A guard shoved him.

The Arch Mage glared at the guard. "We'll have none of that," he said. He looked at Drayden and nodded. "Good luck to you." He offered his hand to Drayden.

Drayden looked at his shackled hands, but raised them as best he could to shake the Arch Mage's.

"Thank you," Drayden said sincerely.

"Don't thank me yet," The Arch Mage said. He turned to leave, but Drayden called for his attention. He turned.

"Do I still call you mage, or do you have a name?"

The Arch Mage smiled but shook his head. "You tell Adamus your name, and I'll share mine."

"That's hardly fair."

The Arch Mage shrugged. "What more can he do to you? You already know he can't harm you while you're here. You may still be a prisoner, but you are under the direct protection of the Chancellor now, and he has forbidden Adamus from interrogating through extensive means unless he says otherwise. But don't worry. If you behave yourself, that shouldn't happen anytime soon."

Drayden nodded, albeit with a grimace. "Take care of yourself," he said.

"May the nine guide you, Dunmer," replied the Arch Mage.

Drayden watched the mage leave with a grin on his face. He felt a slight longing in his chest. Loneliness stabbed at his heart, but he knew he was never truly alone as he watched the mage disappear beyond the door of the Bloodworks, a term apparently deemed by the first Arena Blademaster, whoever that was.

"Well, boys, what are we waiting for?" Drayden nodded forward, and they moved accordingly.

The guards and mages parted equally on either side of Drayden, leaving a row for him to proceed down. But instead of him advancing down the walkway, a swarthy man came towards him. Behind the man followed two others, a young Redguard female, a combatant in her own right, and an iron-clad Argonian who wore an eternal grimace due to a scar over the right half of his face.

The Redguard man stopped before him, holding up a fist which clearly meant halt to his followers.

His voice was gruff, but not unnaturally so. "So, you're the assassin?" He circled Drayden slowly, patting Drayden's arms and shoulders as he did so. When he stopped back in front of Drayden he turned around to his followers. They dispersed a moment later, the woman into a side room, and the Argonian hot on her tail. Drayden thought he heard the Redguard man growl as he watched them leave.

The Redguard spun around to level his eyes with Drayden. He stood a good two or three inches taller than Drayden, and his muscles bulged beneath his iron armor and padding.

"You look like you've seen your share of fights," he said, almost loathingly. He turned and left. Drayden thought their introduction had ended short, but was proved wrong when the man returned with two different arena armors. In his left hand he held one made from a lighter material, metallic spikes lined the wrists and coursed the length of four vertical leg straps. In the other, he offered an obviously heavier and more durable armor, but Drayden had never been one for heavy armors, instead preferring the freedom of movement. As an assassin the option came in mightily handy.

Drayden looked at the glaring man, and reached to his right, grabbing the lighter armor. The Redguard raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Very well," the man said. He then looked at the guards and gestured over his shoulder. "Last cell. Put him next to the pig."

"So soon?" Drayden asked.

"What? You didn't think I'd let you walk around free, did you?" He nodded to Drayden's guards.

One of the guards grabbed Drayden by the arm and forced him along towards the cell indicated by the Redguard.

"Assassin," the Redguard called. The guard holding Drayden's arm let him turn around just enough to lock eyes with his new master. "Call me boss from here on out. You go that?"

Drayden glared, but nodded. Before being thrown in, he caught a glimpse of the side room that the Redguard female and the Argonian had entered a few moments before. With them was a familiar face. The dark elf from the prison.

"Synderius!" he called out.

The guards tossed him into the cell and locked the gate. One of the mages cast a spell on the gate. It glowed bright white for a moment, then turned to stone, irreversible without the magician's consent.

Drayden sighed and sank back into a corner. The same mage then stuck his hand inside the cage and cast another spell, this time at his hands. The shackles fell to his feet in a clanking pile. He was surprised they actually would do this. He rubbed his wrists, thankful to be free of his restraints.

Synderius popped his head around the corner, where his cell bars met solid brick. The way his jet-black hair fell triggered an unpleasant memory of his recent dream. "Hey, buddy," the dark elf said.

Drayden looked at him in confusion. "What are you doing? How did you get out?" His mind raced over the possibilities, then it clicked. "You were intentionally sent, weren't you?"

Synderius nodded, then shrugged. "Well, sort of. But I was sent by that Arch Mage guy. Just to see how you deal with others. I told him I was satisfied with our level of conversations. The reason I was really sent was because some things sort of got out of control with a pesky wood elf." Synderius chuckled. But apparently remembering back to the reason he gave Drayden, Synderius said, "Though, what I would give for some Imperial reservoir."

"But you really were sent there?"

Synderius nodded. "Yep, though only for one night. The Arch Mage confronted me before I got tossed in the slammer and I agreed to stay a few more nights while he arranged your transfer to our humble abode."

Drayden sighed. Sure, he thought, some abode. "More like commode," he griped under his breath. "So, he's testing me with personal relationships, now? Whatever." Drayden grumbled and folded his arms across his chest. The things that mage would do sometimes just made no sense to him.

"I guess so," Synderius said, shrugging. "Hey, just promise me that when you make it to Grand Champion, you'll tell the wood elf that tries to follow you to bugger off. You remember that, okay?"

"Grand Chamion?" Drayden asked, confused.

"Well," he said, lowering his voice and looking around to make sure the coast was clear. Drayden's guards were near the only exit. "I heard some rumors that the only way you'll ever get free is if you make it to Grand Champion."

He pointed to a thick Orc, though his skin shone pale even in the darkness of the Bloodworks. "Agronak gro-Malog is the current G.C. – uh, Grand Champion," he clarified. "He's the fiercest fighter Cyrodiil has seen in quite some time. Arguably even as skilled as Gaiden Shinji himself!"

"Garden Shin-who?"

"No!" Synderius said, perturbed. "It's GUY – DEN SHIN – GEE," he said, pronouncing every syllable. "Don't tell me you've never heard of him!"

Drayden shrugged. "Sorry, friend."

Synderius sighed. "He was the first Blademaster, like Owyn himself." He motioned to the Redguard who introduced himself simply as "boss". "He was slain shortly after founding the Imperial City Arena at the hands of Orcs."

Drayden peered around Synderius at Agronak. He gulped.

Synderius chuckled. "Don't worry about Agronak. He wouldn't hurt a fly unless he had to. He's actually a really nice fellow, once you get to know him." Then whispered, "Though he is a bit full of himself. Just don't tell him I said that."

"He won't have to, Synderius," Agronak growled playfully.

Synderius flinched as Agronak towered over him.

"Oh, hey there, Aggy," Synderius said with a sheepish grin.

"What have I said about calling me that? You know I hate it, so why do it?" Agronak picked the dark elf up by his collar, and proceeded to brush off the elf's shoulder.

"He's also a bit of a clean freak," Synderius said over his shoulder to Drayden.

Agronak stopped, and growled a little. He offered a hand to Drayden. Drayden shook Agronak's hand, forgetting just how strong an Orc could get.

Agronak apologized. "I sometimes forget my own strength, but don't let my appearance fool you. I'm only half orc."

"What's the other half?" Drayden asked.

"Imperial… I think."

"You think?" Drayden laughed.

"Yep!" Synderius chirped in. "He's one-hundred percent pure Irk."

"Orcperial," Agronak corrected with a hint of an aristocratic flare to his voice.

"Semantics," Synderius giggled. He looked over to Drayden. "Don't worry, assassin, we'll make you feel right at home."

Drayden shrugged, but thanked him. The two, obviously friends, walked off together, arguing the correct pronouncement of what Agronak would technically be classified as.

What had Drayden managed to get himself into? He hoped the Arch Mage was right about this, because otherwise he could be here a very long time. At least he would be able to deal with it in relatively more comfort than in the death-ridden dungeons. Though, with one look at the blood-spattered walls, he wasn't so sure that was a good thing. If anything, this place saw more blood in a month than the dungeons had seen over its entire existence.

He settled to think of it in a way that perhaps the Arch Mage would think of it as. "Oh Nine, if you're listening, please guide me." Drayden found the words soothing, though he wasn't sure he wanted anything to do with the nine or their pretentious ways.


	7. Battle With a Titan

**Battle with a Titan**

The first week went by rather slowly. Boss didn't care too much whether or not Drayden participated in battles. Everyone kept to themselves, avoid Drayden, except for Synderius and Agronak. And, although he really appreciated their company, being locked behind stone bars – or any bars for that matter – really put a damper on his will to have fun. Not even Adamus poked his ugly head in to mentally harass Drayden, though Drayden greatly appreciated the break from interrogation right now.

"At least the meals are good," he said to Synderius and Agronak.

Agronak huffed. "Sure, if you call being fed roast pork every night of the week good eating, then yeah, it's the best meal I've ever had." Agronak downed the rest of his ale.

"It's all right, buddy," Synderius said, patting Agronak's back. "I know how you long for some healthy steamed vegetables." Agronak grumbled.

Drayden laughed.

"What's so funny," Agronak grumbled.

"Well…" He really didn't know how to say it, so he just spurted out what immediately came to mind. "You are the Grand Champion, for crying out loud. Why don't you just go buy yourself some veggies, instead of eating what only they give you here."

Agronak and Synderius exchanged a peculiar glance. Synderius sidled up next to Drayden's cage.

"Remember that pesky wood elf I told you about? The reason that I ended up in prison for a night?" Synderius prodded Drayden until he was sure the prisoner remembered.

"Yeah, I remember," Drayden said in annoyance. "What of him?"

"Well, you see," Synderius fumbled over his words for a moment.

Agronak picked up where Synderius failed to continue. "He's the most annoying creature you'll ever set eyes on," he said matter-of-factly.

"How bad can he be?" Drayden asked innocently.

"You're an assassin, right?" Synderius chuckled darkly.

Agronak slapped Synderius in the back of the head. "He's still a living creature, Synderius, how could you even contemplate killing him, even if he is a nuisance." Agronak huffed. "You'd have to see him to believe him," he said, turning back to Drayden.

Synderius rubbed the back of his head and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Aggy's…" Agronak glared. Synderius looked to Drayden. "I mean, Agronak's right. You would just have to see him. But in conjunction with the rest of the city…" Synderius trailed off and imitated a frightened shiver.

"So… you're not one much for fame, then, either. Are you?" Drayden waited patiently for Agronak to respond.

Agronak slowly shook his head. "No, not really. I just can't stand those people sometimes."

The boss walked up behind the three and growled. All three stood… Drayden as best he could in his low-ceilinged cell. The boss settled his eyes on Drayden, motioning for the other two to disperse.

"I see you've made a couple of buddies down here in the Bloodworks," the boss said as Agronak and Synderius left.

Drayden shrugged. "What of it?" he said.

The boss's glare deepened. After a moment he lifted his eyebrows and sighed. "Well, I wouldn't be getting too close to anyone if I were you. It's because you never know who's going to be around after their next fight."

Drayden shrugged again.

"Well… I guess you've waited long enough," the boss said in a finalized tone. "I have your first match lined up, and you may or may not like it. Especially because you won't be fighting with any weapons. Just your bare hands. But I don't care. You matter little to me, anyways, worm."

"What!?" Drayden yelled.

"You're battling a monster, not a human, idiot," the boss said with a sly grin.

Drayden sat down in dumbfounded amazement. They wanted him to fight for his life, but pin him up against a wild beast. Without a weapon.

Drayden cursed under his breath. "When do I start," he growled.

The boss looked around for a moment, playing as if he'd missed something, and then back to Drayden. "Now!"

---

The sun shone bright, hanging high over the Arena, a wonderful counter for winter's lingering presence. His breath crystallized in the air as he breathed out, waiting in front of yet more bars, though these were protecting him from what lay a hundred yards away, trapped behind a likewise barrier. The boss didn't exactly give him any real information on what he was up against, but he did give hints that the creature was tall, burly, strong, and stupid. Immediately, Drayden's mind conjured up every tall, burly, strong, and dim-witted creature known to Cyrodiil. Troll matrons, Ogres, Minotaurs, Nords. Well, they said it wasn't human, so scratch the last. Besdies, technically Nords weren't from Cyrodiil. Drayden shrugged.

Drayden waited anxiously for the announcer to start off his introducing banter, but for some reason, he was quiet while the crowded Arena buzzed annoyingly with the pre-game chatter. Drayden could hear his opponent's growls across the pit. It was a much deeper, gutteral growl than any he had heard before. No, it was more of a bellowing, snorting, kind of roar. It sounded awfully like a…

"Welcome to the Arena!" The announcer finally kicked in, scattering Drayden's concentration. "Are you ready for a blood bath?" The crowd roared with excitement.

How Drayden did hate that announcer. He'd been to the Arena a few times before, when he was much younger, of course, but always found the pre-game speaker to be rather irritating. He settled on ignoring him, and, if that didn't work, he would force himself to grow accustomed to the annoyance.

"We have a special treat for you today!" The crowd reached an all new level of excitement. Treats for the destitute heathens, Drayden thought with a smile, how nice of them.

"Are you ready for an exciting match where man is pitted against beast?" The crowd screamed an approval. "Then raise your voices as today we have a prisoner from the Imperial Dungeons." The crowd booed. Drayden grimaced. "And today he will face off against a fiend so brutish, our nightmares have nightmares about them." The crowd yelled out a cry of praise.

Drayden checked the straps across his arms, legs, and chest. He would have to be quick. Four pillars in the field with lengthy chains. He remembered from when he once watched a fight what lay in the center of the field. He formulated several plans in his head on how to deal with whatever lay behind the bars on the other side of the field.

"Combatant, steel yourself," the announcer said. "Lower the gates!"

Drayden's gate dropped as the other one dropped, and what he saw instilled fear in him. The creature lowered its horned head and let out a rage-filled deafening bellow, before charging forward on its front hands and rear hooves at an incredible pace for its hulking size. Drayden heard the crowd gasp as they watched the creature charge across the field.

"Minotaur," they cheered rhythmically. Though, Drayden knew this was no ordinary Minotaur. Its silver hair was a clear indication that it was a pack leader – a Minotaur Lord, the strongest of its kind.

Drayden placed his feet slightly apart, bending his knees, and angled his body, poised to leap.

Wait for it, he thought, forcing himself not to dodge prematurely. The creature roared as it stampeded down the field. Wait for it. The crowd went wild with anticipation. In Drayden's mind, the act seemed slow as he knew the exact moment to react. He had taken on a Minotaur once before, though not one this large, and certainly not a Lord. He just hoped they worked using the same method of attack – charge, roar, skewer with horns… or bash in their enemy's skull if they have a hammer, though this one, thankfully, didn't. It would only mean a messier situation.

Drayden spread his legs a little farther, adjusting to the timing, and leapt into the air, somersaulting over the Minotaur's horns, and placed a foot on the creatures head. It reared its head to counter Drayden's movement, exactly as Drayden had hoped. He used the force behind the creature's action to propel him further into the air, soaring until he reached the closest of the four stone pillars, to his right.

He turned to see the Minotaur working its way back around. It howled as it saw Drayden on top of one of the Pillars, and charged accordingly, just as planned. Drayden smirked, dropping down to the chain hooked to the pillar, and pushed off the Minotaur's head, creating for himself a swing. Drayden came back around and kicked the creature in the face. It roared in pain and thrust out a meaty arm in an attempt to subdue Drayden.

All too easy, Drayden thought, clasping the creature with the chain. He leapt off it and ran for another chain, seized it, and turned back to clasp the Minotaur's other arm, only to find it had broken free of its restraint and now wielded it like a chained mace. Drayden cursed, dodging low as the Minotaur swung the chain over Drayden's head.

Drayden dodged to the side to avoid another swing, and circled the Minotaur. It growled at him, and thrust out another meaty arm. Drayden slid under the Minotaur's arm, barely avoiding capture, and leapt back on top of it. The Minotaur flailed about, and tossed the chain up at itself to somehow reach Drayden. Drayden caught the chain and propelled himself around the Minotaur, locking the chain around its neck. Another bellow, though this one a bit muted.

The Minotaur danced about the field, trying to free itself of Drayden's presence on its back. Drayden pulled with all his strength, while keeping his balance, to suffocate the Minotaur.

Drayden heard a rusted crack beneath them. He looked down to see the grate in the center of the field was giving way. His original plan could still be rectified, though he didn't know how much time he had left before the Minotaur would break free of its ensnarement. Drayden's muscles bulged beneath the raiment as he made sure that wouldn't happen.

Drayden reached out his hands while trying his best to hold the chains, and, feeling his mind clear of any magicka-hindering effects, he reached down and summoned up what energy he could.

The grating creaked again, and still Drayden focused. The Minotaur flailed around in a frenzy, making it difficult to concentrate, but still Drayden pressed through, calling upon his energy and focusing it on the grate.

A metallic snap sounded, and at first Drayden thought it was the chain breaking, but realized that, as he and the Minotaur were quickly sinking below ground level, the grate had caved in. Drayden leapt up, swinging his limbs back, performing a back flip in the air, the cry of the Minotaur quickly fading.

Drayden fell to his knees, weakened both mentally and physically. He did it. The crowd roared with approval, forcing Drayden to his feet.

"WHOA!" The announcer yelled. "What a spectacular display of wit and strength! Combatant, return to the Bloodworks, and rest. You've earned it."

Drayden smiled and ambled slowly back to his gate, and through the door leading into the Bloodworks. As he closed the door behind him, shutting out the applause, Drayden grinned even wider.

"This just might not be so bad," he said.


	8. A Little Praise, A Lot of Grief

**A Little Praise, A Lot of Grief**

"That was amazing!" Synderius praised Drayden as he settled down in a chair, drenched in sweat, and looking the part of one victorious. Agronak patted him strongly on the back, nearly knocking Drayden out of his chair.

"Oh, uh, sorry, friend. The whole strength thing." Drayden raised a hand in pardon. "That was a great match, though, I must admit. Tell me, how did you cause the grate to cave in like that.

Drayden leaned back in the chair, and took in a deep breath. He smiled. "Telekinesis with a hint of destructive magic. I heard the grate giving out, anyways. I figured why not help it along and cause our friend a little stumble."

"Ah, spell combining," came a familiar voice. The Arch Mage walked out of the hall from the Bloodwork's entrance, clad in his usual fine blue satin apparel. "How intuitive of you. But next time, might I dissuade you from causing the Arena such damage. Owyn is, for lack of a better term, pissed."

Drayden play-mocked fright, but blanched when Boss's voice rang painfully in his ears.

"Worm!" A door slammed at the main entrance. "Worm! Where are you?" Owyn stepped into the Bloodworks, his face reddened with rage. Drayden thought he could actually see steam rising off the Blademaster's head. His eyes narrowed as he marched forward.

Drayden rose accordingly to stand his ground, and found himself staring in a raging inferno that blazed in Owny's eyes. Drayden had seen worse, but the longer Owyn drilled him with a stare, the more uncomfortable Drayden became.

"Tell me, worm, what were you thinking?" Owyn seethed. "You have cost me a fortune with that grating. Do you even want to know how much it will cost to replace it? You'll receive one hundred lashes as just the initial punishment. Oh, you'll pay for this."

The Arch Mage stepped forward. "Perhaps the Arcane University may be of assistance with the costs," he said.

Both Drayden and Owyn turned their head in surprise. Most of Owyn's anger melted away, but Drayden could tell he fought to hold on to it.

"I-I, uh." The Blademaster cleared his throat. "It won't be cheap, I'm telling you that right now," he said, putting his gauntleted hands on his hips. He puffed out his chest, as if he were trying to intimidate the Arch Mage. Drayden laughed inwardly, knowing if he did it out loud he might receive icy stares from both men.

The Arch mage shrugged. "How much are we talking? Whatever the cost, the Arcane University will have more than enough funds to cover the damage. We can even enhance the metal, magically of course, so that little occurrences like this won't happen again." He looked at Drayden as he said this.

Drayden smiled weakly, but found an internal energy welling up in the pit of his stomach. Was the Arch Mage really, truly, serious about covering the damage caused by him? Drayden had never had a friend so willing to help him out with anything, let alone pay his debt.

The Arch Mage turned his attention back the Blademaster. "So? How much?"

Owyn pretended to count out on his fingers how much, obviously delaying. Drayden saw the Arch Mage's eyes narrow in annoyance, but the man remained calm and patient as Owyn wasted his time with his frivolous counting.

"Roughly fifty-thousand septims," he said with a sly grin. Drayden's eyes bulged in shock. Was the Arch Mage really going to buy into this nonsense? Drayden turned his attention to the Arch Mage and awaited his answer.

The Arch Mage nodded and shot Drayden a warning glare. Don't say anything, his eyes said. Drayden sat back down in his chair.

"You'll have your payment before the end of the week. Fair enough?"

Owyn was speechless. He opened his wide mouth, but no words came out. He sufficed to giving a nod.

"Very well then," said the Arch Mage, turning on his heel before leaving.

"You're still receiving that one-hundred lashes," Owyn growled, turning back to Drayden.

"No more than twenty!" The Arch Mage yelled back into the Bloodworks. Drayden winced at having to receive any, but was greatly appreciative that he only had to endure twenty, and not the whole hundred like Owyn promised him. He knew Owyn would not go against the Arch Mage's demands. And he thought it, perhaps, a fair price to pay for costing the Arch Mage such a vast amount of money.

Owyn turned in surprise. He growled deeply, but kept any other comments to himself. He stormed off to some part of the Bloodworks that Drayden didn't know about, though Drayden could still hear a plethora of muffled curses.

He pulled his chair up to a table that Agronak and Synderius had seated themselves at. A feast, by Drayden's reckoning, lay before him. He was famished, and tired, and ready for a little break. The three ate in relative silence, but Drayden could see that he had, by some inconceivable miracle, made a few steadfast friends.


	9. The Aftermath of Consequences

**The Aftermath of Consequences**

Drayden winced as he sank down to his mattress, his back a torn up mess from Owyn's lashes. Despite only giving twenty, Owyn seemed more than eager to relish every stroke he landed across Drayden's exposed flesh. Each and every one stung profusely, the pain only increasing the longer Owyn delayed completing each lash. And to top off Owny's "dessert", so he said, salt was applied to Drayden's wounds. Drayden couldn't remember the last time he had cried out so loud in pain. Owyn's eyes flashed maliciously as he personally tossed on handfuls.

Drayden knew that salt actually healed wounds the quickest – besides spells – drying out any blood trying to escape, and cleansing the wound of disease. He didn't even want to try and reach around to cast any spells to seal over the wounds. He was just too sore, and perhaps a little lazy as of right now. But Drayden frowned, remembering the thought of Owyn enjoying his punishment.

Perhaps this was some wicked retribution cast on him for the things he done, he thought. He dismissed the idea. No, this was simply a punishment for the here and now, not for the past. Though, he was sure Owyn might have thought it was justice for his choice of becoming an assassin.

Drayden sighed, easing down all the way onto his stomach, breathing in sharply as his wounds pulsated in protest to any movement. He knew he would never have lasted the full one-hundred lashes. Surely, Owyn couldn't have meant it. That would have been a cruel and unusual punishment, though he couldn't be sure such laws would prohibit the act.

Again, his mind raced over the punishment he'd given to individuals – justly or unjustly, they were…

"Wrong," Synderius said, grinning. He held his hands behind his back. Drayden turned his head in their direction, still lying belly-down on his mattress, too sore to move. What were they doing, he thought with a mild headache.

Agronak growled in frustration. "Then your right," he said.

"Wrong again," Synderius giggled, enjoying his game of teasing Agronak.

"Then if it's not in your right or left, you must be cheating," Agronak said, annoyed.

Synderius shrugged with a wide grin. "Well…"

"He's using telekinesis," Drayden said, still lying down.

Synderius looked over to Drayden with a frown.

"Aha!" exclaimed Agronak. "You were cheating."

"Technically," admitted Synderius. "But remember the whole "Hey Synderius, let's start thinking outside of the box" thing?" he said, creating a decent impression of Agronak's voice.

That shut Agronak up. He threw his hands in the air, obviously surrendering to whatever deal they had made.

They turned to Drayden, both with frowns, and walked over to see their friend.

"How you doing, buddy?" asked Synderius. Drayden groaned.

"I can't believe Owyn actually whipped you for that," said Agronak. "I've never known him to be this hostile to any Arena combatant… ever."

Drayden dismally laughed. He knew why Owyn was so hostile to him. Owyn was placed, more or less, as Drayden's babysitter. "Assassin," he said, pointing to himself, but wincing and taking in a sharp breath as he did. "Remember?"

Agronak shrugged. "Maybe." Agronak swung his sword in a tight arch around himself, a mannerism Drayden had noticed Agronak displayed when in thought.

Drayden focused his attention on a weapons rack behind Agronak and Synderius. If he was going to survive any future matches against anything other than an unarmed opponent, he would need a weapon. And, truth be told, he hadn't practiced his swordsmanship in quite some time. With his assignment given by Lucien, he distanced himself from most of the brotherhood, suspicious of all. While he knew he hadn't lost any of the more precious fundamentals of swordplay, he wanted some good practice. The swords and hammers on the rack were in no condition, anyways, to be used as combative weapons. Drayden wondered how long it had been since any of them had last received a decent oiling.

An idea came to mind, although he doubted Boss would ever agree. But he had to try. He also wanted more outside time. Drayden reached around, ignoring his aching muscles and stripped flesh, and cast a restoration spell on his back. Immediately the pain subsided, although he realized how famished he was. Drayden's stomach growled.

Synderius looked at him in surprise, and slapped his forehead. "How about we get you some nourishment?"

"That would be much appreciated," Drayden said, sitting up with a groan. He stretched his muscles and yawned.

"Why did you do it?" Agronak asked.

Drayden looked at the Irc in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Why did you become an assassin? I am not one for mindless killers, but you seem a decent guy. I just want to know why you decided to become a killer. You know, you don't really strike me as the kind who actually enjoys killing others because someone else commanded you to."

What was he saying? Didn't he do the exact same thing? He felt his face heat, and his neck tingled. "And what would you call what you do?" Drayden snapped. "How do you think you became the Grand Champion? By picking daisies?"

"Those men and women chose to become combatants," Agronak said coolly. "They knew that they stood a chance of dying. They put their life on the line to become something great. And, while I don't entirely agree with the ways of the Arena, I forced myself to become someone great."

Drayden tried to mask his anger, but it evidently came out in his words. "You said you don't even like the fame."

Agronak turned his head so he could look at Drayden. He furrowed his thick, black eyebrows until they met in the middle. He looked at Drayden a long moment. "It is true. I don't care for the fame, but it gained me something precious. Something I would never trade in for the world."

"And what's that?" Drayden barked.

Agronak sighed and looked away. "A name," he said with a smile.

At Agronak's words, Drayden immediately felt his anger recede. While he still felt a little confused – he simply didn't know what Agronak meant by that – he regretted his harshness towards Agronak.

"I'd rather not share why I decided to join the Dark Brotherhood," he said. "But, suffice it to say, it was also to gain me something. Though…"

"You wanted revenge," Agronak said. It was not a question. He could see it in Drayden's eyes. "But now you're not so sure if revenge is quite the way to go."

"I never said that," Drayden retorted, though not angrily. "But…"

"Dinner's up," Synderius shouted before coming in with three large bowls of soup, one in each hand, and one miraculously balanced on his head.

Drayden laughed at the sight and thanked Synderius for the soup. As he took a bite he looked at Synderius in amazement. "What kind of soup is this?" Drayden asked. "It's the best I've ever had."

"I'm not all brawn, you know," Synderius said, chuckling and flexing his incredible muscles.

"You made this?" Drayden was even more surprised. "T-thank you."

Synderius and Agronak exchanged a look. Agronak turned and asked, "You know, assassin, we've known you now for a little while and still we have not once learned your name."

Drayden set down his spoon and looked around. "I'm trying to hide it from Adamus. But…" He wasn't sure he could trust them to keep it a secret, though he wasn't so sure why anymore it mattered.

"You can trust us," Syderius said. "We're the best secret-keepers around. Plus, the Bloodworks is completely empty now, besides us three."

Drayden took a deep breath. He was really going to disclose his name now. The Arch Mage was the only other person outside of the brotherhood that knew his name, though he was still unsure how. But he now willingly was about to give up his name.

And it felt good to do so. "My name…" he said pausing, "is Drayden."

Agronak extended a hand. "Well, then, you are officially welcome to the Arena, friend."

Drayden shook the Orc's large hand, and winced.

"Sorry," Agronak said, "It's the…"

"Whole strength thing," Drayden said, completing Agronak's saying. "Don't worry about it."


	10. The Only Dumb Request Is A Request Unask

**The Only Dumb Request, Is A Request Unasked**

The morning after Drayden's punishment, he requested – via a reluctant guard – Owyn's presence, though he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to lock eyes with the man that beat him. He could still feel the lashes beneath his cured flesh. Drayden sat up straight on a stool provided for him, and inched it close enough to his cell's stone bars to carry on a personal conversation, but not close enough for Owyn to reach through the bars and strangle him. Drayden was sure the man would do it once he heard the request. And if all else failed, Drayden was positive he could appeal to the Arch Mage to persuade Owyn otherwise.

A sigh escaped his parted lips as he thought of having to bring in a third party to settle his differences. Was he really growing so weak that he would even contemplate on having to resolve to childish antics to get his way? No, if Owyn disagreed then Drayden would just have to put up with it. Perhaps he could suggest, if not allowing outside time right this moment, baby steps. He needed the practice, anyways. Hopefully, Owyn would agree to a little free-of-cell, sparring-time with either Synderius or Agronak, even down here in the enclosed and cramped spaces of the Bloodworks.

Drayden wondered where those two had run off to. He hadn't seen them since their meal the previous night. Usually, they were first noise in the Bloodworks. But not this morning. The loudest noise that permeated the Bloodworks now came from a noisily snoring pig in the cell next to him, even taking precedence over his guards' chitchat. He wondered why Owyn kept the boar, if not for a later meal. Though, the boar didn't look like it would make to great of a meal. Perhaps a few good strips of bacon could be carved from its meat, but really the thing looked sickly. Maybe it was just him, but Drayden found it amusing that Owyn would even consider keeping a pet boar.

The sound boots thudded in the Bloodwork's entrance, followed quickly by a slamming door. Drayden closed his eyes and worked on controlling his breathing. He could not show anger. He could not show estrangement. In. Out. Drayden opened his eyes as the sound of Owyn sitting in a likewise stool reached his ears. Owyn wore a thick red scarf around his neck, and was, for once, devoid of his usual iron armor. The heat of the Bloodworks was apparently in plenty that Owyn began peeling away at several layers of clothes. The scarf came off last, and so the man sitting before Drayden looked much more pleasant and far less angry than the man he was forced to call boss. Granted, he still didn't look too pleased to have been called back into the Bloodworks, but he didn't display any blatant hostility towards Drayden for being the reason behind it.

Owyn crossed his arms, evidently in wait for Drayden to begin the conversation. He rocked back and forth, perhaps impatiently, perhaps in patient wait, but in either case Drayden knew he should begin soon should he invoke a greater anger. He didn't want to have to deal with a griping Owyn for the remainder of his days as an Arena combatant.

Owyn began tapping his foot. He was growing impatient.

"I suppose you are wondering why I requested a meeting with you," Drayden said with a grin.

Owyn raised his eyebrows quickly then settled them. Of course he was curious as to the reason he was here.

"Right." Drayden quickly constructed his thoughts, though he had been pondering them for quite some time so it was really for dramatic effect. "Let me just get right to the point."

Owyn narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Drayden suspected Owyn was throwing a little bit of a glare in there as well. He continued, nonetheless, unfazed.

"If I'm going to combat in the Arena… well, I'll just say it. I need practice."

Owyn mocked surprise. "You? You need practice?" He said mockingly. "But you are an assassin. Your skills are supposed to be legendary." Owyn folded his arms with a smirk.

Don't get angry, Drayden repeatedly said to himself.

"Unfortunately, rumors as such are far from the truth. Even assassins need practice."

Arms unfolded, Owyn inched his stool a little closer to the bars. "Tell me something, assassin," he said, "how can I trust a man convicted of multiple murders to not slay the man I pit him against in mock battle. Do you think I would willingly allow his escape?"

"Of course not," Drayden said, thinking of something quick to say. "There are plenty of mages and soldiers to keep an eye on me. Do you really think I would delay my sentence for a worthless kill?"

"So now my men are worthless, are they?" Owyn growled.

This was not going well. Drayden resolved to a touch of sincerity. "I apologize. I didn't mean it that way. What I meant to say was, a kill worthless for the consequences it would bestow on me. Besides, I doubt your men would fall so easily to an expected blade."

Owyn lightened his anger a shade. "Then suggest something, and quick, for how I am to allow such an agile individual as yourself from scaling the walls of the Arena and escaping. Ah yes. I saw your match with the Minotaur. Good work, by the way. It was, indeed, a match worthy to be praised."

He was actually complimenting Drayden. Drayden must have displayed some semblance of surprise at the praise, because Owyn laughed hard and loud. It was the first smile he'd ever seen the man display. Drayden could hardly believe Owyn had the capability.

"I think I have a plan," Owyn said.

A thought had come to Owyn on how to aid Drayden in his appeal. Something about it just seemed off. Drayden couldn't believe it.

"What's going on here?" he asked.

Owyn grinned devilishly. "As I said, I have a plan."

Drayden sat back, dumbstruck. He didn't know if he could quite believe his ears. "I-I thought you would immediately shoot down my request."

"Look," Owyn said, "It takes balls to have brought me down here to ask anything of me, especially after a stunt like what you pulled the other day. In my mind, the only dumb request is a request unasked. But don't think you will easily avoid my criticism. I'm still the boss around here," he said, growing solemn and putting on a glare, "and my law will be obeyed at all times. You got me?"

Drayden smirked and nodded. "Yeah, boss," he said sarcastically, "I got you."

Owyn glared slightly more, though Drayden sensed it a friendly glare. "As long as it stays that way," Owyn said. "Now, let us go find Agronak and Synderius."

Drayden couldn't quite explain what just happened, but the unsuspecting usually happens when you least expect it. Still, Owyn seemed to have changed completely. Drayden didn't know if this was some sick trick or a dream. A pinch quickly proved false the latter, and nothing except time could confirm the former. Drayden sighed and followed Owyn after being released from the confines of his cell, unsure but hopeful to actually be granted his request. His guards followed in tow.

---

Agronak sat hunched over, swaddled in a cloak, while Synderius cut up with some of the usual riff-raff of the Feed Bag. Drayden found Synderius's jokes amusing but highly inappropriate, perhaps even for bar talk, though it didn't deter the Dunmer from sharing, or the locals from partaking in the laughter. But once Synderius and the motley crew surrounding him caught sight of Owyn and Drayden, and the guards following, did silence ensue.

Synderius's eyes lit up. He nudged Agronak who mumbled something incomprehensible, and looked up. Agronak smiled wide, displaying his rows of sharp teeth at seeing Drayden out of his cell, and out of the Arena for the first time, for that matter. To some it might have been an intimidating sight. Agronak laughed out loud.

"Welcome, friends," he said in a slurred voice. "Come, have a drink with me."

Drayden started off towards Agronak, but was momentarily held back by a firm fist on his shoulder. He to Owyn, knowing the man wanted to give first his recognition – being the boss and all. Owyn nodded an approval. Drayden went over to Agronak and Synderius, and sat down with them. The crowd around them immediately dispersed.

Synderius patted him on the back and nodded to Owyn. "What's going on?"

Owyn obviously heard. He pulled up a chair. "You two," he said, pointing to Agronak and Synderius, "are going to be the assassin's personal watchmen and punching bags. I assume you won't have a rough time dealing with him and making sure he doesn't break a nail the next time he goes into the Arena."

Synderius chuckled. Agronak nudged him with a dumb grin. "Of course we will," Agronak said, mock-saluting the Blademaster.

"You will have trouble with him? Or you will make sure he doesn't give you trouble?"

Agronak shrugged. "Both," he said with a grin. Drayden and Synderius laughed at their inebriated friend.

Owyn looked to Drayden. Drayden shrugged.

"We'll keep an eye on him," Synderius said with one eye wide open. "Plus, he couldn't possibly take on both the Grand Champion and his current protégée."

Agronak shook his head. "Nope, not happening."

Drayden sighed. "The more you describe their duties," Drayden said, "the more it sounds like they'll be my babysitters." Though if it meant more outside time…

"No, no, no!" proclaimed Agronak as he threw his arms around both Drayden's and Synderius's shoulders. "Thinks of us much more than that. I will not be labeled a babysitter. It's bad for the image. I would much prefer it if you thought of us as your personal trainers."

"Yes, well don't teach him too many neat tricks to where he could cause problems for his guards," said Drayden. Drayden's guards grimaced, even the mages. They didn't like the idea that much was clear, but Owyn seemed to know what he was doing.

Drayden grinned at the idea. "As Owyn said, my own punching bags."

Agronak and Synderius looked at each other, then laughed. Soon, Drayden and Owyn found they had joined in with the others' merriment. Drayden couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so hard, and it felt good. But something struck a wrong chord in him with all of this. He didn't know why, and he couldn't quite place his apprehension, but something inside him rubbed him raw. Regardless, his smile withheld, Drayden enjoyed the rest of the afternoon. His throat certainly enjoyed it. He barely recalled the last time he had an ice-cold beer lubricate his gullet – since his early stages in training as an assassin.

"An inebriated assassin is a foolish assassin," said Lucien. Drayden didn't care. Hell, he didn't even feel like killing anyone right now. What's the worst that could happen?

Drayden felt his mind slipping into a state of pleasure with each bottle downed. Fuzzy, yet satisfying. A smile played on his lips every second. The other men slipped into a likewise state, until all four of them caused such a commotion the bartender requested their dismissal. Drayden slept soundly that night, though he wasn't sure it was entirely worth it the next morning. Perhaps that was the worst that could happen.

Even so, he felt something good happening. Something he had never thought he would ever see coming, nor ever have something to do with. And yet there was the feeling of unbalance. No, it was more of a sense that something was approaching him, and there was nothing he could do about it to stop it, or even stymie its progress. He would just have to wait and see, and keep in prayer, on how to overcome whatever it was. Though, he had to be honest with himself, a part of him still yearned to be rescued and released so he could once again return to his previous life. Drayden felt torn. But, hell, he needed a clear mind and his headache was more than enough to cloud his judgment right now.


	11. A Match Grandeur

**A Match Grandeur**

A groan passed from Drayden's parched lips. A weight worthy of claiming it an anvil nestled itself right behind his eyes, an intense pressure pushing outward against his cranium and everything swirling around inside it, stemming from some invisible source. Drayden grabbed his head between his hands, gingerly applying pressure to his temples, and slowly massaged the area in tight circles. Not even restoration spells could cure the incorrigible side effects of the many alcoholic beverages he consumed the previous night. Granted, it was his fault, and what better way for the body to punish the mind for inducing vulgar liquids than with such an incredible headache. Drayden grunted as he sat up and then proceeded to stand, his legs an unstable mess. To steady himself, he grabbed the bars to his cell.

"Looks like the booze doesn't suit you very well. Isn't that right, Drayden?" Drayden looked up with a frown. Why did he have to use his name aloud? Sure, the Bloodworks was empty of physical bodies, but you could never be too careful with magic ears. The Arch Mage sat on a stool a few feet away, quietly studying Drayden with that enigmatic gaze. He chuckled lightly and tossed Drayden a small blue vial.

Drayden studied its smooth, crystalline surface for a moment before looking back up to the Arch Mage, one eyebrow raised in question. "What's this for?" his voice sluggish and groggy.

The Arch Mage gestured to the vile and said, "That right there is the answer to your problem."

"My headache?" Drayden asked.

"Oh no, of course not," the Arch Mage said sarcastically. "It's for your stupidity." The Arch Mage folded his arms tightly across his chest and daintily crossed his legs, which Drayden found amusing seeing as how the Arch Mage preferred garments of a dress-like appeal.

Drayden chuckled to himself. The Arch Mage cocked an eyebrow. "Thank you," Drayden said.

The Arch Mage lightly dipped his head. "You're welcome, now drink up. You have a match later today and we can't have you fighting haphazardly."

"A match?" Drayden asked in surprise. "So soon?"

The Arch Mage nodded a confirmation. "Owyn has it all set up. Your first match against an actual opponent is to take place when midday sun touches high tower."

"What? Midday sun touches high tower?" Drayden looked at the Arch Mage in confusion."

The Arch Mage sighed with a smile. "It's part of a rhyme meaning 'At Noon', dear Drayden."

"Oh…" was all Drayden could muster in reply. Of course it meant noon. The white-gold tower. Midday sun. Of course. Drayden looked at the little blue vial, thinking to himself that perhaps it would cure his stupidity. A dark chuckle escaped his lips. He removed the stopper, the scent rising from within a sweet aromatic fragrance, though with a hint of an earthy musk. Drayden inhaled deeply, recognizing two of the ingredients used.

"Alkanet Flower and Lady's Smock leaves," he said, inhaling once more deeply.

The Arch Mage looked at Drayden in surprise. "I'm impressed," he said. "Not many can do that."

Drayden shrugged. "It's a basic remedy, though I've never heard it used to negate the effects of alcohol and liquor."

"That's because it's not your basic remedy."

Drayden nodded. "There is another scent, though barely present," he said, waving the vial beneath his nose. "It smells metallic. Though like metal that has been burnt… or smelted."

The Arch Mage smiled mischievously. "It's a special ingredient. But don't worry," he said, reassuring Drayden, "it's not toxic. In fact, it is actually a fairly profound healer."

Drayden looked at the vial suspiciously, curious as to the ingredient. But he trusted the Arch Mage, perhaps more than anyone he'd ever known. Settled, he drained the vial's contents down his gullet, a cool tingling sensation coursing its way into his stomach, and from there immediately spread to the rest of his body, simultaneously curing his symptoms. He felt energized and ready to go. He felt ready for the match. Drayden threw down the vial and stood.

"I feel great!" he exclaimed. "Thank you. For everything."

The Arch Mage smiled. "As always, Drayden, don't thank me yet."

---

"What are you lookin' at?" Owyn asked Drayden as the mer walked up to him clad in arena raiment. His brows met in the middle as usual. Drayden rarely saw him without some form of a scowl, even when smiling. Even so, he was a little put off to the intense hostility displayed.

Drayden shrugged. "I'm not quite sure," he said with a puzzled look on his face which quickly melted to reveal a playfully wicked grin. He had come to grown mildly fond of the Blademaster.

"Yeah, well, you better realize who you're dealing with, because your next opponent isn't gonna be some dumb brute." Owyn crossed his meaty arms over his chest. His frown only deepened. "You're about to face a flesh and blood and far more intelligent opponent. This is it, kid. Think you're up for it?"

Drayden nodded somberly. "Yes, boss!"

"Good," Owyn said with a scowl. "Now head on up there."

Drayden spun on his heel and raced away to the blood stained hall leading up to the pit.

"And try not stain my arena with your guts while you're up there," Owyn yelled after Drayden.

Drayden smirked and pounded down the hall to the door. He stopped in front of it for a moment, breathing in deeply, willing his racing pulse to a calm, but strong beat. With his hand outstretched, the coolness of the wood on his palm, Drayden forced inward the door, and walked out into the bright, frigid morning. The cold hindered his progress none whatsoever, even with it against his exposed flesh, as he marched up to the frostbitten gate. He felt as if a fire burned in his veins, welcoming him into the arena, warming him from the inside out. The crowd beyond only excited his blood to a new level.

The crowd itself, excited and lively, buzzed with their usual pre-game chatter, and this time Drayden didn't mind. If anything, he welcomed it. It was the annoying announcer he dreaded hearing, but for some reason he couldn't quite place the force of it. He was about to fight! He was about to kill.

Drayden hung his head for a moment, eyes closed tightly, and listened to everything around him. This winter didn't seem to deter even the weakest of fools from coming to the arena to experience the blood bath as the announcer so elegantly described the matches on so many other occasions. In fact, as Drayden listened the crowd grew increasingly excited. He had never heard their anxiety this boisterous before, not even during his visit as a child, nor especially from his fight with the Minotaur. And this was only the silent breaths before the ensuing of earsplitting, clashing blades. He absorbed their excitement for the next match. But how could he appease their appetite more so?

Quickly, just as he had in numerous occasions, he formulated several strategies of attack. He paused only long enough to silently thank Agronak and Synderius for their practicing swords.

"Good morning, people of Cyrodiil!" the announcer cried in a projected voice. Again, Drayden found himself cringing at the announcer's voice. He suddenly felt compelled to run. To retreat from this match.

Drayden shook off the feeling and psyched himself up. He checked his blade at his side, sensing its parched cry for blood. Drayden was mildly surprised he had actually been given a weapon. Sure, he was going up against another sentient being, but all that questioning before his previous match…

Drayden grinned and looked forward to try and see his opponent. Only the faint silhouette of a still being alerted Drayden to the fact that another combatant awaited the announcer's final words before he could rush out from the then opened gate and attack his adversary. Drayden closed his eyes and concentrated on the announcer.

"Are you ready for a blood bath?" the announcer asked. Drayden chuckled darkly, eyes loosely shut. The announcer spoke strongly, his words almost dripping with delight. "Today we have fresh blood from the yellow team. And for the blue team, we have the assassin from last week. We all saw how he dealt a deathly blow to the fearsome Minotaur, but can he do it again? Combatants, steel yourselves!"

Drayden breathed in sharply.

"Lower… the gates!"

Drayden snapped his eyes open and hurled himself out of the open gate, dashing forward at a breakneck pace, sword still sheathed. The other combatant did the same, his sword likewise sheathed. His armor was dyed black, and his face was concealed beneath a black hood. Dark, scaly skin covered his hide, and a thick, muscular tail followed behind.

An Argonian, Drayden cursed silently. But there was something about this particular Argonian that boded ill for the occasion at hand. There was something not quite right about him. Something sinister. Something…

They met in the middle. Drayden quickly devoted his attention to cast a heat spell on his sword so as to avoid the metals of his blade and sheath from hindering a smooth removal. Their swords clashed a split-second later, raining fiery sparks on the arena floor. The two pushed off from each other, only to be reunited in an exchange of heavy blows, their swords whistling through the air as they acutely aimed for vital points. But Drayden found himself equally matched in this field of combat. Only from within the Brotherhood had he ever met someone who could so easily match his blade. Drayden focused all of his attention on predicting his opponent's deft movements.

Somewhere from beneath the dark cowl an intelligible hiss came forward. "Drayden," it said.

Drayden pushed the Argonian away with a magically enhanced fist to the torso. The Argonian growled and flew backward, countering the attack with an agile backwards somersault. Drayden stared down the Argonian in confusion.

"Did you really think we wouldn't find you, Drayden?" he hissed. "Did you really think we wouldn't come for you?"

Drayden intensified his stare. This was no mere Argonian combatant, Drayden knew first and foremost. This was a Shadowscale – an Argonian born under the sign of the shadow, raised practically from birth to be an assassin until they've accumulated enough prestige to be sought out by the Dark Brotherhood for service. And the second thing he knew was that this Shadowscale had been sent for him, not to rescue, but to kill. The Dark Brotherhood wanted him dead.

Drayden deflected a heavy blow to his right, keeping his distance from the dark and twisted blade held firmly in the Shadowscale's grasp. While this assassin undoubtedly knew his way around a blade, Drayden sensed him to be fairly new to the game.

"Well, I certainly do hate to disappoint you and your masters, beast," Drayden seethed, intending to bait him unto anger, "but I won't fall so easily to you or your swine."

The Argonian hissed angrily, then added with a raspy cackle, "Actually, that is the way this one prefers it." He lunged forward in a lightning quick movement. Drayden parried the lunge, sending the Argonian far past him, but too far out of reach for Drayden to slice at his back. Drayden suspected the Argonian had realized what happened, and carried out further than necessary so as to avoid this.

"You're a little slow for an assassin," Drayden laughed. "Did your masters assign you this mission because you needed to prove yourself? Or maybe they just wanted you to die."

The Argonian growled.

"Oh don't worry," Drayden said, "you won't leave this arena without a bloody prize to bring back to your masters. I promise you."

The Argonian growled again and sprinted towards Drayden. Drayden dodged the Shadowscale's upward thrust, and sliced deep into the Argonian's left arm. The Argonian howled in pain and looked down to the dark-red pool culminating at his feet from a limp arm dangling at his side. He turned swiftly, madly swinging his blade in Drayden's general direction.

Drayden saw the attack coming and blocked it with little effort. He twirled his blade around the Shadowscale's, and locked it into place, cross guard by cross guard.

"Tell your masters that if they want me dead, they'd better send a seasoned professional, not some fresh meat." With those final words, Drayden ripped the Shadowscale's blade free of his hand, simultaneously severing the Argonian's right arm with a powerful downward thrust.

The Argonian just looked at him dumbfounded, too in shock to realize the immense pain he was about to endure. Drayden turned his back on the Argonian for a split second, sure the beast would desist. But in finding some strange rush of adrenaline, the Argonian rushed forward, teeth bared. Drayden spun his blade around, hearing the thud of his enemy's head a second later as it landed at a now limp body. Drayden spat on the corpse and looked up to an ecstatic crowd. They roared in approval.

Drayden wished he could smile at his feat, but this was no competition he enjoyed partaking in. First of all, it meant he'd been branded by the Brotherhood, exiled as a traitor. They still feared he would betray their position. He had half a mind to do it right now. But he wouldn't. He couldn't. He knew Lucien would contact him soon. He could trust Lucien. It was the brotherhood he couldn't trust. It was the brotherhood that had been compromised. Lucien wanted to see the brotherhood cleansed of impurities. He would just have to be patient.

Lucien would come.


End file.
